


Together

by makesometime



Category: Pillars of Eternity
Genre: But Pre-Endgame, Canon Related, Elafa exists, Established Relationship, F/M, Fix-It, Post-Edér's Personal Quest, Spoilers, Therefore, With Canon Complications, With the Bad Ending, but Canon Divergent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-15 15:39:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14793273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makesometime/pseuds/makesometime
Summary: It’severything.She hates it as much as she loves it, the vulnerability that washes over her when he whispers her name, lips brushing hers. Then he’s kissing her again, backing her up into the desk and it would be simple, so simple, to give in.Instead, she pushes on his chest.“Fetch a bottle of rum from the stores. We have a lot to talk about.”





	Together

**Author's Note:**

> As I'm sure is true for a lot of you reading this, I've had a complex time with PoE2. 
> 
>  
> 
> **Please be wary of spoilers before reading any further.**
> 
>  
> 
> I haven't actually run the game with my Cipher Watcher, because I can't face it. In fact, I made a second Watcher to experience the story and romance Tekēhu, whom I love and want to write for as well. But I was never going to be able to stay away from Edér. 
> 
> This story assumes an existing relationship between Edér and the Watcher before they arrive in Deadfire. Everything that goes down, save Edér denying feelings for the Watcher, has been kept.

Bearn is dead. 

Elsa wants to _scream_ , to punch at the walls of the ship until they are splinters in the water, the whole damned vessel as ruined as the asshole who captained it. 

She stifles her rage, if only for Edér. He's staring at the corpse as broken as she's ever seen him. The corpse of the boy who might’ve been his son. 

It hardly matters now. 

Edér is silent as they make their way back to The Defiant. She wants to touch him. To hold his hand, to curl a palm over his shoulder. To embrace him. But she stops just short every time. He has shown no interest in such contact over the past few weeks, after all, since her fit of pique over Elafa and her _screaming_. 

To think, she woke in the Deadfire with him at her side, his kisses on her palm and his relief filling her heart. It seems impossibly long ago now. 

Aloth finds her in her quarters that night, tears coating her cheeks. He watches with confused tenderness as she spills her heart, tells him of her hurt, her disappointment in herself and how easily Bosc eluded them. How in the end, none of her pain matters, because Edér has lost his chance to know his family. 

It doesn’t matter that she feels as if she has lost Edér. 

“ _Aye. Fine mess you've got yourself into lass_.”

Iselmyr’s voice sounds particularly discordant in the moment, paired with the lined, concerned face of her oldest friend. 

Aloth simply holds her hand, and lets her cry. It's the kindest thing he could have done for her. 

She's not certain she really deserves it. 

#

The following weeks are no more or less difficult than the ones before. Edér recovers from the fresh pain of grief as well as Elsa could ask of him. Not that she's spoken more than a handful of words to him since that day. Determined to make sure he has space and time, she's also punishing herself for her perceived part in the tragedy. 

She tells Maia this, one day, hidden away at the stern of the ship as rain lashes down, soaking them to the bone. The other woman watches her for a moment, utterly lost. Tells her in turn how counterproductive it is to blame herself for something that wasn't anyone's fault. 

She likes Maia. 

But it doesn't change her mind. 

Speaking with Eothas at Ashen Maw, however? For someone who used to happily proclaim little care for the gods, this one has managed to get under her skin in ways she couldn’t have predicted. 

_Take care of the Watcher._ He says to Edér, blithe and confident as they both stare dumbfounded at his inexpressive visage.

The knock on the door of her quarters is almost expected, after that. 

#

They are heading back to Neketaka, a tedious and lengthy passage that she has long since grown tired of. As good a time as any to get her thoughts in order, Elsa pulls out her journal to jot down the events of the previous day. 

If anyone else ever sees the contents, she’s certain she’ll shrivel up on the spot, consigning them all to an early death at the hands of warring gods. She's scrawled line upon line of hatred against a dead woman, then scribbled them out in shame. Written down her hurt over the crumbling of her relationship, her wicked thoughts against the man she professes to love, her self-pity and self-flagellation. 

_Tap tap tap._

She's writing down a particularly colourful turn of phrase about the adra-statue-turned-god when she calls out her permission to enter. 

The pull of Edér’s soul at hers leaves her breathless, gold and green meshing and winding, grateful to be reconnected after so long apart. Elsa near enough throws her journal out of the window in surprise at the force of it, but manages to slot it seamlessly into her desk drawer instead, a steadying breath drawn in through her nose as she stands. 

“Hey.”

The simplicity of the greeting makes her eyes prickle. Elsa exhales, long and slow through barely parted lips. 

“Edér.” She replies, her voice caressing the simple syllables with a love that she's never going to be free of. 

He takes a step. Hesitates. Then another, three more, until he's crashing into her, hauling her close so that he can kiss her with all the fear and regret and love and want that they've denied for these past weeks. She clutches at him, nails catching on his simple shirt, groaning into his mouth. 

It’s _everything._ She hates it as much as she loves it, the vulnerability that washes over her when he whispers her name, lips brushing hers. Then he’s kissing her again, backing her up into the desk and it would be simple, so simple, to give in.

Instead, she pushes on his chest.

“Fetch a bottle of rum from the stores. We have a lot to talk about.”

#

Her skin is tingling, her tongue loose, by the time she puts voice to the other woman’s name. She’s terse, but not rude, when she asks him what he was thinking. Edér is blunt, but not cruel, when he responds.

“You have to understand what it was like, lov-.” Elsa hesitates, swallowing down a swig of rum to hide her slip. The blush on her cheeks is clear enough indication. “We came here together. And the first port we call at, you suddenly start looking for another woman and the boy who might be your son.”

His fingers brush hers when he takes the bottle, visibly chewing on the inside of his cheek. “Elafa was important to me. You and me? We might be together for whatever time we got left, but I’ll still remember her. And Bearn.”

Elsa hums, looking out the window at the rolling waves. Hearing that doesn’t hurt, like she’d have once expected. Perhaps she’s grown up a little.

“Maybe I made a mistake in how I presented it to you.” He admits. “But you didn’t take it well, from the start.”

She sighs. It’s effortless to reach out and fold her hand over his thigh. “No, I didn’t. I was petty and jealous and saw you slipping away.” She wets her lips. “I know I’m not the first to love you. Doesn’t mean I didn’t want to be the last.”

“Thinking my head so easily turned does us both wrong.”

The silence is easy to lapse into. There’s no guilt when they’re not talking, opening their hearts. They pass the bottle back and forth for a time, sharing tentative smiles that don’t quite reach their eyes.

“I’m so sorry about Bearn.”

She feels the first tear track down her cheek and doesn’t wipe it away. There's an honesty in it. Showing him how much she truly feels for his pain, his losses. 

Edér shakes his head, looking down at his clasped hands. “Not your fault.”

“And yet…”

He sniffs, just the once, running a hand over his face. She won't comment on it, but it makes her heart break all over again. She wishes they'd talked sooner. _Why didn’t they talk sooner?_

“Bosc killed him. Ideology killed him.” He says. “We didn't... still don't know. If catching them immediately would have done a damn thing.”

Elsa has a hundred conciliations run over her tongue. Puts words to not a one of them. They sound cheap in her head and would sound worse on the air. He's right, and that's all that matters. 

“I love you, Edér.”

She's said it before. Many times. Never has it meant so much at once. 

_I'm sorry. Forgive me. I appreciate you. Don't leave me._

“Love you too.” He pulls her hand to his mouth, kisses the centre of her palm. “Eothas told me to look after you. I plan on doing that.”

For the first time in weeks, Elsa smiles and means it. 

#

The evening passes in a heady blur, not helped by the rum that they somehow polish off completely. 

She's aware enough to note the clumsiness of his touch pulling her clothes away, to try and steady her own trembling fingers as they delve into his pants. She touches him until he is gasping into her throat, fingertips squeezing bruises at her waist.

She ignores the scratchy press of floorboards against her knees, in favour of the taste of his spend over her tongue. Whether it’s born of an act of perceived necessary penance or rather a gift of love, she isn't sure. 

Edér makes her come three times before he's ready to go again, emotion and rum ( _and age_ , he jokes) lending him a more lengthy recovery than years gone by. She's grateful for the howling of wind outside the ship to hide her cries. She almost forgot how good he is with his hands. 

Overwhelmed by the feel of him thick and hot inside her once more, Elsa hides her face against the base of his neck, pretends she isn’t crying. Edér palms her hip, urging her to match his halfway-desperate thrusts and there’s a hint of moisture against her skin as he fits his forehead to her shoulder in turn.

He pulls her on top of him, after, stares at her like she’s going to disappear. His hand is warm against the middle of her back and she strokes her fingers through his hair, smoothing down the patches her fingers earlier clumped together. She’s sticky, aching but at the same time she’s settled, at peace.

“Together.” She murmurs, leaning to kiss the tip of his nose. “We face the rest together.”

There is no argument to be made against that sentiment.

A soft knock at the door draws her eyes from his and they watch it crack open, barely an inch.

“Begging your pardon, casità.” Irrena speaks, her voice tentatively amused. “We approach land and no one else was brave enough to come tell you.”

Edér laughs, unabashed as Elsa presses hard on his stomach to lever herself out of bed. “Thank you, Irrena. We’ll be right up.”

She’s almost to the bowl of fresh water she uses to keep herself feeling somewhat put-together when arms encircle her waist. Solid, even as the very floor beneath their feet moves, Edér is the support she’s been missing in recent times. 

A hand on her shoulder holds her in place as he reaches past her for the washcloth, gently wipes the sweat from her skin and tends to her with a soft touch between her legs. In turn, she cleans him too, pressing kisses to his skin following the path of the cloth. It’s frightfully symbolic, in its way.

Once dressed, Elsa catches up his hand as he moves to the door, halting his steps. He says nothing as she brings his hand to her mouth, kisses the palm in the same way he is so fond of. At the last minute she flicks out his tongue and earns a surprised laugh.

She follows him up to the deck, genuinely contented for the first time since Port Maje, even if she hasn’t the faintest idea what awaits them. 

Edér pauses at the door to hold it open for her, smiling in that simple way that makes her knees weak. 

In that moment she’s never been more sure that whatever lies ahead, they can handle it. Together.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> As a final note:
> 
> When playing I desperately tried to save Bearn, despite knowing what that meant for Edér in the end, but the game was not having it. I spent weeks of in-game time sailing around where he was supposed to be, only to find the ship in an entirely different part of the map. Selfishly, I did not reload as I had killed too many enemy ships by that point. In essence, I am stealing the truth of my second Watcher's run to make things easier for Watcher Elsa in this story.


End file.
